


days of butter

by kerrykins



Category: Matilda (1996)
Genre: Drabble, Found Family, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 11:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20581580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerrykins/pseuds/kerrykins
Summary: Matilda reflects on her life.





	days of butter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Corasparasol (LastVerse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastVerse/gifts).

> onella said she wished there was more matilda fic so here it is! i already sent it to the discord group but i thought i might as well post it here too
> 
> matilda/miss honey shippers dni fhbjgdfnjk

Matilda made her way down the stone path, skipping ahead of Miss Honey and waiting at the door for her to unlock it.

“Perhaps I should have my own key to the house,” Matilda mused, as she watched Miss Honey fumble in her purse and then pockets for the keys.

“Perhaps you should,” the woman laughed. Matilda liked Miss Honey’s laugh. It was warm and gentle and could easily be compared to a breeze rustling wind chimes. They both made their way inside once Miss Honey had finally found her keys (they were at the bottom of her purse) and per usual, Miss Honey went about preparing tea and bread.

It was a habit from years ago, when Miss Honey lived in that cottage in the woods, and when Matilda lived with the Wormwoods. Much had changed since then; Trunchbull had fled the large townhouse they now occupied and hadn’t been seen since. The Wormwoods were gone too, and like Miss Trunchbull were beginning to fade into one of many unpleasant but distant memories. Matilda thought it was funny how just a couple signatures on a piece of paper and a chalk message scrawled across a board could have changed their lives so. Though ‘funny’ wasn’t the right word— ‘fascinating’ or ‘peculiar’ or ‘extraordinary’ were all much more fitting. There were no more TV dinners or secretive library excursions. Matilda knew now how to love and be loved, listened to and respected. Miss Honey wasn’t like any other grownup she knew. She was kind and took Matilda seriously and knew how to toast bread the way Matilda liked it best. 

She was still pondering this when Miss Honey set a plate in front of her.

“What are you thinking about, Matilda?” Miss Honey asked, dropping a sugar cube into her tea. The kitchen smelled like chamomile and buttered toast. It smelled like home.

Matilda answered truthfully. “I’m thinking about how happy I am.” She knew Miss Honey would want her to elaborate, so she did. “I know I’m very young and I still have so much of my life ahead of me. But I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been and that this happiness will follow me wherever I go.”

Miss Honey raised her eyebrows. She did that often, whenever Matilda made remarks like that. When Matilda had asked her why she always looked so surprised, Miss Honey replied that she hadn’t ever known someone to be so refreshingly honest. Matilda didn’t see what was so refreshing about that but she did know that most people lied. But Miss Honey never did, so she accepted the woman’s answer even though she didn’t understand it entirely.

“It will,” Miss Honey said. “My happiest moments in life are the ones I remember best.” She offered Matilda a small smile.

“And what would they be?”

Miss Honey leaned back in her seat, a faraway look in her eyes. “Well. When my father was alive and he would play with me in the garden is the first. The second would be when I moved into my cottage. And the third would be when I adopted you.”

“That’s one of my favourites too,” Matilda said. She picked up her piece of toast—now cold— and took a tentative bite. She had been expecting margarine but instead she tasted butter.


End file.
